Theatres, Magic and Bears (Oh My!)
Evan was right -- it's relatively easy to find the Electric Brixton from where you are. Topped up with snacks and technology, you head there to investigate. The Underground The Electric Brixton, back before the Uprising, must have been bustling with life. The huge, rectangular box of a building resembles a theatre; complete with a cracked marquee just barely visible behind vines that have collected across its surface, the name of the last act to play there long since obscured. The blacked-out base of the building, underneath the marquee, has been marked with graffiti so many times that you can barely make out any of it, besides the odd inspirational quote or anti-elf raving. You feel like the white half of the building, above the marquee, would probably be the same if not for the great chunk which had been ripped out of it; moss and flowers growing between the cracks and along the breaks as if trying to replace the brick and stone turned rubble. The doors are firmly locked, but as you head around the building you find the backstage door is open; wedged ajar by a lump of concrete. You push your way in, blinking around the dusty gloom inside that your eyes refuse to adjust to. Remembering the gadget Evan had left you, you lift your thumb to rest against the smooth metal adorning your earlobe. There is a moment's silence, then a soft green glow that just barely illuminates the room, emanating from the pointed metal cuffing your ear. Tugging gently, as per Evan's instructions, you feel a surge shoot through your skull, like something between brainfreeze and the rush you get from standing up too fast. It's not exactly painful but it's certainly shock enough that you almost reach to quickly turn it off again -- only to realise the surge is dying down as quickly as it came. And then you see the mist. Shapes fade into form in front of your eyes; almost like coloured clouds dancing in the dark. Some are more distant, others merely faded trails the colour of rusty mud. You blink around, letting your eyes adjust before you make yourself dizzy trying to follow all the lights, and notice one shape is closer than the others. You don't think it's in the room with you, but it's certainly in the building -- a large blob of yellow light swirled with blue mist, vaguely person-shaped in its form. Blue and yellow-- that was what Evan said humans would appear as, right? Using the crack of light from the doorway and the soft glow of your Aurorae, you carefully navigate the rubble and wild plants to approach the figure. You find him in the main hall, sitting patiently with his feet over the edge of the dusty stage. He's... well, the only word you can think of to describe him is big. There are a couple of working spotlights on in here so you tug at your earlobe again and the mist in your vision fades out, allowing you to see him properly. The man is burly, to say the least. His upper body resembles a solid wall draped in cloth, and you're pretty sure just one of his thighs is bigger than your head. You can't see his face from this angle, completely obscured by the hooded cloak he wears. This has to be Bear, right? Before you can even think of a plan to check if you're right, he turns his head in your direction, gently shifting one of his enormous hands to pat the wood beside him. As you cautiously approach him, he lowers his hood and turns his gaze towards you. As you sit, he towers above you and you have to crane your neck a little to properly see him. His eyes are a milky brown and surprisingly soft as they look you over appraisingly; framed by a mop of long brown hair. His face is just as chiseled and strong as the rest of him, and his lips pull into a stoic line among a surprisingly well-groomed beard. "You're a little small to be a rebel," he says, his voice a booming Scottish drawl. Though his voice is nearly monotone, there is a sparkle of amusement in his gaze, and as a low rumble of laughter echoes in his throat you get the feeling he says that to every new recruit. "Evan left you to fend for yourself? They do that -- busy kid, they are. They'll be back. What's your name? Why join us now?" Finding it surprisingly easy to talk to this kind giant, you tell him. Bear listens patiently, then nods and claps himself on the thigh with a resounding thud. "Right, then. As the strongest Thaumaturge this side of the wall, it's my job to take you to the nearest Rebel camp. I'd walk you there but then anyone could follow us, so we're going to have to jump." Jump? You watch in confusion as he gets to his feet, now towering even higher above you than before (can humans even be that tall?), and offers you his hand. When you take it hesitantly, he flashes a smile, "You'll have to hold your breath for a second." Hold your breath? You frown, but feel like you should probably do as he says and drag in a breath to hold. As soon as you do, his grip tightens on your hand, surprisingly gentle despite the sheer strength you can feel in those large, calloused fingers. Lifting his free hand, his brow pinches in concentration, fingers twitching and shifting almost imperceptibly -- and just as you feel you're about to lose the breath you were holding, his arm sharply snaps back, hand closing as if "grabbing" the air. The atmosphere ripples and shoots towards you like a tornado, and as it yanks you both forward you realise why you had to hold your breath. Your vision blackens for a moment, and as you feel your body lurch like the dip in a rollercoaster the breath you'd held is dragged out of your lungs -- then as soon as it had begun, it's over. There's a moment of dizzy disorientation; confusion in your brain as if it had been expecting some kind of abrupt stop or collision. Then Bear's hand slips away from yours, your vision clears, and you can finally take in your surroundings. Bear was right -- you could have walked here. You've landed in an underground station; Brixton Underground Station to be exact, if the large "Brixton" signs adorning the tiled walls are anything to go by. In days gone by this could have been quite a claustrophobic space, but some of the walls and pillars have been knocked down to reveal an open gathering space between the two old train platforms. Tents line every available wall space, some straying more towards the centre of the clearing, and as you absently wander to check the place out you can see there are tents all along the platforms, up until about halfway. Humans and elves alike are relaxing and chatting at the entrances of their tents or on the floor around a large stone firepit that has been erected in the middle of the clearing. Some obvious newcomers sit meekly in a group at the furthest wall, some of them patching each other up from injuries they've sustained outside. The overgrown natural takeover of the surface hasn't quite touched these dank, dimly lit halls, but as you look up to the high ceilings you can see the occasional breakthrough of moss or hanging vine, and some people have brought down their own potted plants from the surface. Graffiti almost completely covers the curved walls overhanging the train tracks themselves: some spraypaint, some moss. Despite the chatter there is a hushed, calm atmosphere down here. Friendly; welcoming despite the clear suspicion you see in some of their gazes. You feel like you should be smelling more smoke than you are, but there must be some magic at play as the scent that reaches your nose is the barest hint of gently smouldering tinder atop old tile, flowers and machinery. It's almost homely. A little haven; an underground tent village in its own right. Just seeming to catch his breath, Bear smiles down at you. "Welcome to the Underground~" Category:Stories